


We Could Have Chopped This Up And Added It To A Hot-Pot!

by BlackKyber



Category: saigenos - Fandom, ワンパンマン | One-Punch Man
Genre: Best Friends, Domestic Fluff, Egg and the Toaster, Eventual Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hero Saitama, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Genos, One Punch Man - Freeform, One True Pairing, Romantic Fluff, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Sick Character, Sickfic, saigenos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-12 00:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackKyber/pseuds/BlackKyber
Summary: Ever since the rigorous training that earned him the mantle of the strongest Hero in the world, Saitama has found that there’s not a single thing he comes up against, that poses any kind of challenge to him.Except ONE thing, apparently:It turns out that being really strong, doesn’t give you immunity from catching the flu.Luckily, Saitama has a disciple ready to take the very best care of him.





	We Could Have Chopped This Up And Added It To A Hot-Pot!

“Saitama-sensei, please, stop worrying. Although I do not have a human body, I have a database of information in regards to your current condition, as well as how to treat it. Please, leave it to me.”

Saitama just groaned miserably, pulling his pillow out from behind his head and plopping it down over his face.

“Why did this have to happen _now?_ ,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. “There’s no way I’ll be better in time for the Festival, and I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks!”

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Saitama and his disciple, Genos, had been on their way back from shopping for dinner. But halfway back to Saitama’s apartment, his legs had begun to feel wobbly, and he felt as though his face was on fire, despite it being relatively cool out.

Genos, alarmed at seeing this sudden weakness in his Master, had picked Saitama up and used the rockets built into his back to blast them home at full-speed, where he insisted that Saitama let him take his temperature.

“38.8”, the cyborg had read off, sounding worried. “It appears you have quite a high fever, Sensei. Any other symptoms?”

“Ah, my throat hurts. Actually, everything kinda hurts.”

“Hm. Elevated body temperature, dizziness, shortness of breath ...”

“When did I say ‘dizzy’? Or short of breath?”

“I noticed it while we were at the store. Twice you held your hand to your head, as if trying to center your balance, and a few times I asked you a question, and your voice —“

“Okay, okay,” Saitama had said, sighing. Genos was always hyper-aware of everything going on with Saitama, which could either be really helpful ... or really, really annoying. “So what’s the diagnosis, doctor?”

“My amateur opinion would be that you have the flu. However, I would like to invite Dr. Kuseno over to corroborate my findings.”

“No, no, that’s okay; I’ll take your word for it,” Saitama said, taking another slug of the water Genos had brought him. “Jeez, I don’t think I’ve had the flu since I was a kid. And this is a shitty time for it, too.”

Saitama had said that because, at the end of the week was Z-City’s annual Fall Festival. Saitama was a huge fan of these types of events, and went to every one that he possibly could.

Don’t worry, Sensei,” Genos was telling him now, rising to his feet. “I shall take full responsibility to restore you to perfect health, and you shall not miss the Festival. As your disciple, I make a solemn vow, that —“

“Alriiiiight, man,” Saitama cut him off irritably. “You don’t really have to do anything. I just need to sleep it off.”

“Not quite, Sensei. First, you have to change into more suitable clothes for convalescence. Then I need to prepare the proper nutritional substance to aid in your recovery. And then —“

Genos continued to speak, but Saitama closed his eyes and settled back, suddenly feeling very tired. It appeared as though protesting Genos’ enthusiasm would be futile.

Like it or not, Saitama was about to receive the very best of care.

— - —

“What is this?”, Saitama asked, touching the long, somewhat smelly object draped around his neck.

“That is a negi, Sensei. It is said to help relieve symptoms of congested sinuses.”

“An _onion_ can do that? Jeez, man; we could have chopped this up and added it to a hot-pot!”

“Ah, speaking of food; here you go,” Genos said, setting down a bowl of a plain white substance in front of him.

“Is this porridge?”, Saitama asked, inspecting it carefully. “You know that I hate porridge, Genos.”

“Be that as it may, this type of soft, easily-digestible food is recommended for patients with the flu. Now, if you do not feel up to eating it yourself, I will gladly spoon-feed you. Please do not be shy in consulting me about it.”

Saitama shook his head and hurriedly picked up his spoon. “No, no, I can eat by myself.”

“Very good. Then I shall leave you to it. I am going to the kitchen now and wash dishes. I shall return in approximately ten minutes, at which time I shall give you your next dose of medicine.”

Saitama nodded as Genos left, letting out a small sigh once Genos was out of sight.

It was two days later, Thursday night, and Saitama was still battling his flu. 

Genos had, as expected, been taking care of Saitama the whole time; almost aggressively so. He cooked him soft foods such as the porridge, he continually brought him fluids, he had bought him the expensive kind of medicine from the drug store. He even set him up on a temporary sleep schedule, after having researched the peak times during the day that the body recharged and healed itself.

“All this ... and I’ll STILL probably miss the festival,” Saitama said to himself, coughing into his hand. He laid down, deciding to pretend that he’d fallen asleep, so Genos wouldn’t make him finish the porridge.

Saitama heard his doorbell ring, and turned himself over on his side, glad that Genos would answer it. He had a feeling it was that pushy paper boy; Saitama still owed him last month’s bill.

Yet listening to Genos open the door revealed a different reality.

“Hello,” came a very familiar voice, making Saitama’s eye twitch. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was in the neighborhood, and thought I’d drop in and check on your patient.”

“How were you ‘in the neighborhood’, Fubuki?”, Saitama called out from his futon, forcing himself back into a sitting position. “You don’t even live in this CITY, let alone the neighborhood.”

She sidestepped Genos and came further into the room, her arms crossed over her chest, a smile on her face.

“Really, is that any way to talk to a friend? A friend who came quite a considerable distance just to ask about your well-being?”

She knelt down across from him, passing him a small wrapped box from her pocket. “And I’ve even brought you a gift!”

“What is it?”, Saitama asked, not bothering to open it.

“Chocolates. A whole lot of different kinds.”

Saitama shook his head and handed it back to her. “Ah, thanks, but I can’t have chocolates right now. Sore throat and all.”

“Really?”, she said, making her eyes wide and innocent. “Well, it’d be a shame to waste them, wouldn’t it?”, she said, rather slyly, as she opened the box and began eating them herself.

“You could always give some to Genos, you know,” Saitama said, shaking his head.

“No, it is fine, Sensei. I do not care for chocolate,” Genos offered, as he came into the room with a cup of tea, which he handed to Fubuki. 

Saitama was confused; normally, Genos would be able to sense his irritation with unwanted guests, and remove them swiftly from the apartment. But he seemed glad, almost relieved, that Fubuki had show up.

“My research tells me that a great part of recovery from illness is a boosted moral spirit,” Genos told him now, as if reading his mind. “Receiving positive visits from friends is one way to increase this morale.”

“See?”, Fubuki said, sounding smug. “Looks like I’m helping you. Which is what friends do, they _help_ each other.”

“There’s nothing positive about this visit from a ‘friend’,” Saitama argued, taking another bite of his porridge. He grimaced a bit, at the dull, sludgy consistency. “You know what she’s here for; the same thing she’s always here for.”

“Whaaat? Oh, you mean that business about you joining my group?”, she asked, still with that innocent facade. “That’s not at all why I’m here, Saitama-kun. But you know, since you brought it up —“

“Here we go,” Saitama said, rolling his eyes.”

“Since you brought it up, did you know that I have not one, not two, but THREE former nurses in the Fubuki Group? All quite skilled at their crafts, I might add. If you were a part of my group, you’d be in the position to receive absolutely top-notch care, for ANYTHING that you might get.”

“I’m already getting ‘top-notch’ care HERE,” Saitama said, pointing at Genos.

“Maybe, but is Genos-kun as pretty as _this_?”, she asked, as she pulled out her cellphone. She brought up a picture of an attractive woman, holding it in front of Saitama’s face. “And you should SEE her when she’s all dressed up in her nurse’s uniform; so cute!”

Genos came around to look at the picture as well, a frown on his face.

“Saitama-Sensei, would it aid your recovery at all, if **I** were to dress up as —“

“No!”, Saitama exclaimed quickly, feeling himself blush a bit. “It’s ... I ... say, Genos, don’t you have dishes to be washing?”

“Oh, that’s right. They must be done soaking by now. Please excuse me,” he said, standing and leaving them.

“Say, Fubuki, if you really want to be a help ... you can get in there and help Genos with the housework. He’s fallen a bit behind in the chores since taking care of me. Aside from the dishes, I’m sure the bathtub and toilet need a good scrub—“

Fubuki stood up rather quickly. “Ah, well, I’d certainly _like_ to, but ... well, look at the time. I’d forgotten that I have several urgent matters to attend to, so I’ll be taking my leave, Saitama-kun.”

Saitama smiled to himself; his ploy had worked. He knew that if it was one thing in the world that Fubuki hated, it was housework.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he said now, giving her a friendly smile. “Well, thanks for stopping by.”

“Of course,” she said, as she stood by the door, slipping on her shoes. “Have a good evening, and I wish you a speedy recovery. And a goodnight to you, too, Genos!”, she called out, before walking out into the night.

 _Thank God_ , Saitama thought to himself, preparing to lay back down. _Now maybe I can finally get some —_

“Sensei!”, Genos said, loudly, making Saitama jump a bit. “It is time for your dose of medicine. Then I’d like to take your temperature for my log. And THEN —“

— - —

Friday afternoon, a day before the Festival, and Saitama was starting to feel optimistic. His cough had considerably lessoned, his temperature was nearly back to normal, and his ability to taste and smell was slowly but surely returning.

He was practicing moving around today, as he wanted to prepare himself for all the walking he’d be doing at the festival tomorrow. So he convinced Genos to let him accompany him to the market, where they were picking out ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

“What about this?”, Genos asked now, holding up a package of steak. “Beef is a good source of protein for rebuilding strength after an illness. I can cook it down until it’s soft. Mixed with broth and vegetables, it should make a decent soup.”

Saitama nodded, feeling a bit guilty. Genos had done so much for him this week, and Saitama hadn’t really shown him the proper amount of appreciation.

But what Genos didn’t know, was that the reason Saitama was so anxious about going to this festival ... was Genos himself. A few months back, Saitama and Genos had had a conversation about Genos’ past, with the cyborg admitting that he had blocked out so much of his early-life memories that he was no longer sure what was real, and what wasn’t.

“It’s easier that way,” he had told Saitama, quietly, “Remembering is painful. Moving pictures of people, and a home that I can never see again. So it’s much easier to forget it all.”

When questioned on the subject of going to festivals, Genos had replied that, although he wasn’t sure, he believed that his family had been too poor to make the journey from their home in the country to the cities where they were usually held.

So Saitama set it in his mind, that come fall, he needed to take Genos with to the Autumn Festival. He wanted to buy Genos candied apples and roasted corn, he wanted to watch him play balloon fishing and super ball scooping. He wanted to take him to watch the Bon Odori dances. And, finally, he wanted to see Genos’ eyes light up as he witnessed the fireworks exploding across the night sky.

So, whether he still felt a little sick or not, he was determined to share that experience with Genos. To see him let go, relax, and have some _fun_ for a change.

Saitama’s head was filled with this as they walked home from the market, Genos insisting on carrying all of the bags by himself. Saitama was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t immediately hear the screaming coming from somewhere ahead of them ... or notice all of the people fleeing in their direction.

“Sensei,” Genos said, his body suddenly tensed and alert, “My sensors indicate a monster up ahead. Demon level, 20 clicks north of here. You take the groceries and go back to the apartment; I shall dispose of the problem and meet you there after.”

But Saitama shook his head, stretching. 

“No, it’s okay; I’ve been wanting the opportunity to test out whether my actual strength is weakened, too, because of the cold.”

He started to walk off in the direction of the disturbance, but Genos shot out an arm and held him back.

“No, Sensei. I cannot allow such a dangerous experiment.”

Saitama shook his arm loose and kept walking. “Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry so much.”

The two argued some more, not paying attention to their surroundings, until they were suddenly face to face with the beast itself. It was huge and grey, a cross between something like a lion and something like a cockroach. It’s bulbous eyes glowed as it took in the sight of the two of them.

“Well, well!”, the creature garbled out, grinning with its massive teeth. “How lucky am I, to run into the mighty bald warrior! Saitama, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”, Saitama asked, confused. He was NEVER recognized (or remembered) when he went out on the street, or patrolling. If anything, people knew who Genos was, before him. “Do I know you?”

The creature roared out with laughter, and Saitama put his hand to his nose, disgusted. Whatever the monster had eaten last, could NOT have been fresh.

“You don’t remember? How rude. Well, allow me to refresh your memory: one year ago, to this very date, you killed my brother, Horachi. You hit him with that fist of yours and shattered him into a million pieces. Remember now?”

“Er, not really. Can you be more specific?”

“You attacked my brother without warning, and with no provocation whatsoever. All he was doing was building a new nest for himself, then YOU come out of nowhere and —“

“Waaaait. Now I remember! He wasn’t just building a nest, he was uprooting whole trees, and going after civilians. I had to stop him, or people might have died.”

“So what?! That is the survival of the fittest! My brothers strength had earned him the right to do as he pleased!”

“And Master Saitama’s strength eliminated him,” Genos said, stepping in front of Saitama. “Just as I am about to eliminate you.”

But Saitama put his hand on Genos’ arm, coming around from behind him. “It’s okay; I can take him out really quick, and we can get on home with the food.”

“But Sensei, your strength ...”

“My strength is just fine,” Saitama insisted, balling up his fist and stepping closer to the monster. “So stand back, and let me —“

The monster, annoyed at being ignored, let out a deafening roar and raised its massive paw, to take a swipe at Saitama. But before Saitama could react, Genos shoved him out of the way, firing a blast off at the beast with his hand. The creature dodged it and used its other hand to send the Cyborg flying.

“Genos!”, Saitama exclaimed, watching as Genos’ body whizzed through the air and thudded with brutal force against the side of a building. The force of impact was hard; Genos’ left arm came clattering off, and several of his circuits buzzed loudly.

“I ... I am fine, Sensei,” Genos muttered, staggering to his feet.

“Genos, you’re REALLY being stubborn here. Come on; let me —“

But Genos was already flying at the monster again, using his rocket boosters to gain the edge in speed. He managed to land a fiery blow to the monster’s chest, temporarily lighting it up like a Christmas tree. But the monster countered and spit some stinky brown substance at Genos’ face. The cyborg realized, too late, that it was a powerful corrosive acid. Immediately, half of the flesh-like substance on his face and partway down his neck melted away, exposing the shining metal underneath (parts of which were ALSO melting away due to the chemical).

Saitama dropped the grocery bags and flinched backwards, genuinely startled. He had NEVER heard Genos scream out in pain before; until this moment, he hadn’t even realized that Genos was capable of feeling physical pain.

Very quickly, he sprang into action.

As gently as possible, he knocked Genos down to the ground, momentarily incapacitating him before he could try to leap into action again.

Then he faced the monster, glowering fiercely at him.

“That’s it,” Saitama said, shaking his head. “I was gonna take it easy on you, but now —“

— - —

“Saitama- sensei, what are you still doing here?”, Genos asked, struggling to sit up. Saitama, however, put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back down.

“Take it easy; you’ve had a lot of repairs done, you need to stay still and let things settle.”

“But what are you DOING here?”, Genos repeated, this time laying still.

It was much later, and, after undergoing extensive repairs in Dr. Kuseno’s laboratory, Genos was finally beginning to stir.

Saitama had brought him after the fight yesterday, and Genos, before he’d finally lost consciousness, had told Saitama that no matter how long HE was out of commission, Saitama should try his hardest to make it to the festival.

Now here it was, the evening of the next day, and Genos woke up to find Saitama sitting in a chair by the “operating table”, watching him.

“What do you mean, why am I still here?”, Saitama asked now, looking confused. “How am I just gonna go off and leave you before you get better?”

“Where’s Dr. Kuseno?”

“He had to step out, there was some kind of oil, I forget the name, that he was putting into you that was running low.”

Genos turned his head to the side, looking angry. 

“I am sorry, Sensei. My lack of battle prowess led to these injuries, which forced you to save me, which in turn is causing you to miss the festival.”

“Oi. Forget about the damn festival, Genos! Are YOU okay?”

“What?”

“Do you have any idea how much that scared me, to see that happen to you? Eh?”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to cause such a thing for you, Sensei.”

“Stop calling me Sensei!”, Saitama roared at Genos, startling him. “Stop treating me like your master; you are my FRIEND. I am yelling at you, I am angry with you as my FRIEND right now!”

He paused, forcing himself to get under control, before he continued.

“You’re such an idiot, jumping in front of me like you did,” Saitama said, softly. “Why? Why would you risk your life like that ... for me?”

“I was worried that your illness may have somehow weakened your core strength. If that had been true, then you would have sustained serious, possibly fatal, damage.”

“But YOU sustained serious, nearly fatal damage!”, Saitama exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration. He stood up and began pacing back and forth, seeming aggravated.

“The next time something like that happens, don’t do that again. Don’t try and protect me, even if you believe there’s a chance I might die. Do you understand? Because YOUR life is too important to ME, to endanger like that!”

There was a spell of silence, and then Genos was answering, quietly,

“No, I do NOT understand, Saitama. I know I am not very familiar with things of this nature, but I DO know that I have always believed that it was your duty, no, your _right_ , to sacrifice everything for the one you love.”

“‘The one you love’?”

Genos nodded. 

“I have had several long talks with Dr. Kuseno on the matter. At first I believed that what I was feeling was a functional anomaly in my systems. I was still very young, when my human life ended and my cyborg life began; therefore, I had no reliable point of reference to go off of, to validate my feelings. But Dr. Kuseno helped me, to understand —“

Here he paused, and, sitting up, carefully detached himself from the tubes running into his limbs. He went to Saitama and, being more gentle than Saitama had thought him capable of, he reached down and took Saitama’s hands between his own.

“Dr. Kuseno helped me to understand, what I was feeling,” he continued after a moment, softly. “Why I experience anxiety, when I am unsure of your whereabouts. Or blinding anger, at the thought of others causing you harm.”

Here he dropped Saitama’s hands, moving back to the corner.

“But ... the doctor also explained to me, the difficulties of what I feel. That reciprocation of said feelings is not guaranteed. Also, something else of which I was not aware; there are people and cultures that find the concept of love shared between two members of the same gender as being taboo. He attempted to prepare me for the possibility of rejection, and —“

Genos suddenly found that his lips were too busy, to finish his sentence.

He was amazed; he had read numerous documents about the concept of “kissing”; how it was initiated, the implications of carried, about different lip textures and firmness and a variety of information.

But nothing that Genos had read, could have prepared him for THIS. This lightheadedness, this almost absolute euphoria, at the feeling of Saitama’s lips pressed against his own.

“You really ARE an idiot,” Saitama told him when he pulled away, sighing. “And you still think way too much, about everything. ‘Reject’ you? How could I reject you? Everything about you is like a dream come true, Genos. And ... and I love you.”

Another surprise; Genos had not realized that Dr. Kuseno had equipped him with the ability to produce _tears_. Yet there they were, gliding down his face freely, leaving twin glistening trails on his soft skin.

“I love you, too, Saitama-sens ... Saitama.”

Saitama smiled to himself, as he pulled Genos in for another kiss.

They may have missed the Festival ... but they certainly hadn’t missed out on the fireworks.


End file.
